Just Maybe
by Sasparilla
Summary: Hermione's just thinking. Thinking about life. Thinking about schoolmates. Thinking about school. Thinking about a certain someone who, she seems sure, isn't thinking about her. Hr...R. One-Shot


-_mystikalolo_-

**Author's Note**: I was feeling sorry for myself and absolutely annoyed and sick to death about everything. I wasn't feeling well and I wasn't happy and suddenly I just opened up Word and started typing as fast as possible. And yeah, this is what I came up with. I don't even know where it fits in Harry Potter time so maybe you can tell me in the review you will leave. :-)  
(I know it's not good because I didn't even proof-read, let alone think about what I was writing. But read it anyways because you might find it interesting. Oh and I also know the title isn't too great but whatever.)

**Writing Style**: One-Shot. I think.

**Genre**: General/Romance/Angst (quite mild)  
(You might find some part of it funny too but I don't think humor is going on the genre list)

**Characters**: Main – Hermione and Ron  
Secondary – Parvati, Lavender, and Harry

**Setting**: Hogwarts, era of The Golden Trio

**Spoilers**: through _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_, and I think that would be it. Feel free to point out others if you find them

**Rating**: PG

**Summary**: Hermione's thinking.

**Disclaimer**: _The wonderful, magical world of Harry Potter belongs only to J.K. Rowling, with her delightful imagination and exceedingly talented writing skills that lets us depart from this world and takes us into another world far more enchanting and dangerous_

**Just Maybe**

She was so tired. So tired of it all. So _sick and tired of everything_! Didn't anyone ever care? What? Did her bushy brown hair make her less noticeable? She would've thought it would make her more noticeable. Did the fact that she always answered every question right make people ignore her? She would've thought it would make people ask for her help.

Didn't anyone know that the only reason she was so _damn_ smart was because she studied all the time? And she had a good memory. One of the best. Read something, hear something, once or twice and it was as good as memorized.

Didn't anyone know that she had that bushy hair because if she straightened it (which would be so very _easy_ to do especially since she had magic), she would just be like everyone else? And what good was there of being like everyone else? Now, people looked at her weirdly because she was different. If she suddenly turned the same, people would look at her weirdly for that too. They'd say she was _trying_ too hard. But that it wasn't working.

People had a way of infuriating her. They always had. And she always wanted to complain about them. About how everything was just so _stupid_. About how life could just be so stupid. But that wouldn't do either. Because the minute she would open her mouth, she knew she would just close it again. She would think, 'what right have I to say how much I hate everything, to complain, when others have so much less than I do?' And then she would go on thinking about that for a while, and get sadder. Then she would switch back to how she didn't care if she was being selfish or not. How she just wanted it to be better no matter what.

She knew she really had no right to complain. One of her best friends was in the position where everyone else was leaning on him for their own safety. Oh, but no pressure there. Her other best friend… Oh don't let's get started on her other best friend. Talking, thinking, even _looking_ at him was more than she could bear at the moment.

So she went back to thinking about other things, _anything._ She glanced around the common room till her eyes fell on someone. Anyone. Ah. Parvati Patil. Sitting next to Lavender Brown. The two _other_ Gryffindor girls in her year. Look at them. Sitting there with their perfect hair and perfect nails, crystal-ball gazing as usual. Raising their perfectly plucked eyebrows and smiling with their glossy lips. '_The two Gryffindor Barbie ditzes_' she thought bitterly.

Now that was mean. She knew it was. And it was a lie. Neither of the two were ditzes and nor were they Barbies. Well, no more so than any other _normal_ teenage girl. They just spent a lot of time making sure they looked good. Not an overly abnormal amount of time, but a good lot. And it wasn't so they could impress every boy who walked their way. It was because they liked looking their best at all times. Not that she didn't. She liked looking her best too. But her kind of best was not their kind of best.

And it wasn't even as if she didn't like them. She did like them because they were nice and at times very sensible, even if they believed in the stupid old fudge faker, Professor Trelawney. And they liked her too. She knew that. They had once professed to her that they could be sensible anytime they wanted to, but they didn't want to because they liked having something that ensured that they weren't grown up just yet. They had told her that they didn't want to grow up till they were out of Hogwarts. That their time in Hogwarts meant that they still didn't have to take care of every responsibility.

And she thought that was silly. Having and fulfilling responsibilities were part of the reason they were _at_ Hogwarts. And had they _used_ some of that sense that they swore they had, they would have probably known this by now. She scoffed.

And yet, she silently envied them. A part of her was just so jealous. She couldn't rid herself of responsibilities. Not for a week, not for a day, not even for an hour. And a silent, very secret part of her, wished with all her might that she could. But she had had to grow up quickly. When you were a sidekick, along with another sidekick, next to one of the world's most beloved heroes, and you were the sensible part of the team, there was absolutely no time to do anything but shoulder all the responsibility you could.

Speaking of the other sidekick… No she wouldn't.

Another thing she hated was that Parvati and Lavender were pretty in a way that they didn't realize. Oh, sure, even _they_ knew that they dressed good and looked good and could catch the attention of many males. But they thought it was just a "stare and forget" phase that boys would go through whenever they did stare. They did not realize that even the way they talked, laughed, and expressed themselves, were pretty. They did not realize that boys actually thought about them or _talked_ about them with their mates. Of course, the two _hoped_ they did. But they were never sure.

The reason everyone thought they were pretty was because they just didn't realize their prettiness came more from their graceful actions, than just their faces.

But the boys realized it. Well, they at least realized that something about these two girls caught their interest. A lot of boys had interest. It had even caught one particular boy's interest.

She sighed. There she was again. Thinking about that stupid, stupid boy. Anything and everything she ever thought of would bring her thoughts back to that, that idiot. That red-haired, blue-eyed, freckle-faced, so tall, clueless _fool_ of a boy. He was always, _always_ there in the back of her mind. Grinning, smirking, winking, laughing. Whatever look he had, it was instantly memorized.

Those eyes of his mesmerized her. They were normal eyes. Normal blue eyes. She didn't even _like_ blue eyes. Blue eyes were so ordinary and cliché and boring. But these blue eyes. They were _not_ ordinary and cliché and boring. They were expressive and bright. They were laughing and angry and cold and warm and dark and light and whatever else they wanted to be. He could _talk_ with those eyes.

And red hair. Oh, that wasn't cliché and boring. She _loved_ red hair. She always had since she was born. Or maybe it was from primary school days. Or maybe, just maybe it was the minute she had set eyes on an eleven-year-old boy on the train with a little speck of black on his nose.

Not that she had liked the rest of him then. He was a right rude little bugger. What was that spell he had tried to do? Oh yes, she remembered:

Sunshine daisies, butter mellow Turn this stupid fat rat yellow 

She put her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. What a spell. What an odd and crazy spell. Poor boy. He should've never trusted Fred and George in the first place. That was the only time she had every seen him clueless to a trick they'd played.

But he was clueless to a lot of other things. Oh _so_ clueless! She sighed. He had absolutely _no_ idea, did he? He had absolutely no idea what he did to her and how! He had no idea that he was the centermost thought in her mind. A constant source of infuriation, desperation, imagination, chagrin, annoyance, and laughter to her brilliant mind.

She didn't even _know_ when her feelings of friendship had turned into a deeper, more intimate feeling. But she knew that it had happened, and gradually at that. Because even _her_ strange, mixed-up feelings could not completely turn around all at once for such a crazy boy. He was the exact opposite of her in almost every way imaginable. Every way!

They do say opposites attract.

Oh, it was not fair. How come she had to go through all these stupid, unwanted feelings for him when he obviously had none for her? Well, none in the way she wanted them. She loved _both_ of her friends very much. But the way she loved them? Well that was as different as tea and vinegar. Blech. She hated vinegar.

But really, she did not love Harry the way she loved _him_. Well, that is, if she did love him. In that way. Did she? She didn't know. She just knew that with Harry, it was friendship of the warmest, dearest kind. She would die for Harry.

She knew it was different with _him_. She had much more than friendship for him. It went much deeper than that. And she wouldn't just die for him. She would _live_ for him. And she knew, living could very well be much harder than dying.

And what could she possibly do to show him? If she ever went up and told him, that is, if she ever got the nerve and was able to without puking first, if she ever went up and told him that she loved him, he'd just look at her. And she'd ask if he had heard her. And he would say, of course he had, and that he loved her too and that she was like a sister to him. Oh, she knew that's what he would say. And that would be even worse than not knowing what he would say. Much worse.

Argh! She gripped the arms of the chair in frustration. _What_ was she supposed to do? It was _so_ stupid! She liked him. She _bloody_ liked him! And there wasn't a thing she could do about it. He didn't like her. She was like a _sister_ to him. A bloody sister. (Where were all these 'bloodies' coming from? Argh! Even _that_ was from Ron!) It was so unfair. _Life_ was so unfair!

He'd never like her. Her with her bushy hair and boring brown eyes and studious habits and know-it-all stance. No makeup or designer robes. No boys who liked her. Too much common sense and maturity and absolutely no wildness. How could he ever like her? How would he ever even _look_ at her? How would he _ever_ think of her as _anyone_ other than a short, annoying, boring, (yes, she knew she was being too hard on herself, annoying? Maybe. Boring? No! Right?), drab, plain—

"Hermione!"

Oh Son of MERLIN. It was him. HIM! "Yes?"

Ron frowned at her. "Hermione! I've only been calling your name for the past, what? Half-hour?"

"Oh! Er—sorry. What do you need?"

"Need?"

"I mean, what do you need me to do?"

He frowned again. "I don't need anything."

What? She decided to voice this thought. "What?"

Ron raised his eyebrows. He was good at looking good when he did that. "Do I have to always _need_ something to talk to you? Crazy woman. I don't _always_ need homework or something from you. I'll have you know, I have much better people to _need_ stuff from."

She was getting mad. Did he always have to act like everything was her fault? "Well sorry for trying to help you! Honestly, must you act like _everything_ is my fault?"

Ron looked bewildered. "What the hell? Hermione, calm down. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to go with me to Hogsmeade today."

_What_?! "What?!"

Ron looked at her with concern. "Are you alright, Hermione? You've asked me way too many questions. Normally, I'm asking you the questions."

She blushed. He looked even cuter when he was concerned. "Er, I'm fine. I just, well—okay yeah." Who was she to fight it? "Sure I'll come with you guys. Where's Harry?"

"Oh er—Harry's not feeling too well. He's tired. Said he's staying upstairs and resting today."

"Oh, did he not want to come when you asked him then?"

"Asked him what?"

Was the boy _so_ daft? "To come to Hogsmeade!"

"Oh er—" he looked nervous. "I didn't ask him."

_Wait just a minute, what?_ "Oh? Er why not?" _Were his ears turning red?_

"He—uh just didn't seem up to it and I didn't want to you know, push it. Right?"

_They were turning red!_ No she didn't know. And she didn't know if it was right either. And she didn't understand. Did she care? "Um okay yeah, I understand."

"So, you want to go?" He looked at her with those gorgeous, twinkling, blue eyes and grinned.

She smiled right back up at him. "Yes. I _definitely_ want to go." And they went.

And suddenly life wasn't such a stupid thing after all. And suddenly she didn't feel sorry for herself. Suddenly, she felt like _flying.  
_Maybe she wasn't _quite_ just like a sister after all. Just maybe.


End file.
